


Carousel

by awildlokiappears



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-28 03:55:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awildlokiappears/pseuds/awildlokiappears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All she wanted was a second chance. All he needed was a reason. And to tie them both, a memory long since lost to time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carousel

 

 

_"The carousel dancer, in sweet pink and blue,_   
_Dances and dances the whole night through._   
_She rides painted ponies and waves to the crowds,_   
_Her smile so beaming, the music, so loud._

_But this carousel dancer has but to fall,_   
_A frightening prospect from a mount so tall._   
_She'll ride painted ponies till gray morning's rise,_   
_And the dancer will disappear before all their eyes."_

The poem was light, sad, and old; she'd found it in a book a long time ago, and copied it down in hasty scribbles onto the back of an old notepad; the same one that'd been thrown out with the most of the rest of her things a couple years back. Rose sighed a little and hummed the tune under her breath, tucking her legs a little further up into the notch between one window and the next, keeping her eyes studiously down at the text book as another teacher passed by, this one clearly bored. With the new implementation of a rigorous study hour every other day, students and teachers alike were gnawing at the walls by the time the final bell rang; to be honest, Rose wasn't much different. She just had far better self control.

She closed her eyes and brushed back a lock of short, curly hair. Four months. Four months to graduation and her eighteenth birthday, and she'd be free at last...Of course, freedom meant little more than a possible, tentative fast food job and a stint in the women's home over on Broadway, but when had things ever come easy for her? Certainly not in the last fifteen or so years since her mother had left her squalling at the hospital's entrance...not in the ten that she'd been bouncing between foster homes. This last one wasn't the best, but it wasn't the worst; it was relatively clean, quiet, and she had a mattress. No box spring or frame, but she was optimistic that she wasn't on the bare floor anymore.

And her foster mother allowed her to sew; sure, she didn't have a machine, but she could make simple pillows and most patterns without it. So she repaired things around the house for both foster parents, and they in turn at least got her clothes she could alter easily, and made sure that she got a blanket that actually covered her from head to toe. They both worked full time too, so help with the dishes, laundry, and dinner got herself and her two younger foster siblings treats pretty regularly. Sure, they weren't very touchy feely, and were in it for the extra cash, but still...they treated the three girls well, even if they were both absentminded.

So, Rose really didn't mind buckling down over her homework, usually with free floating bits of poems and prose making their ways onto scraps that she'd tuck into one of her battered notebooks, acting as markers for calculus equations and biology. She held onto them like the petals of her namesake; they were just as precious, just as dear as any of her classmates' rings and jerseys...she tucked one ragged piece back into Chapter Seven and settled back to finish reading; she still had two chapters to go before she was done, and at least one more report before finals. But, at least she had her community service out of the way (three weeks straight of cleaning up the river banks; not an easy task, but excellent for avoiding her other classmates), her enormous, twenty-six page report over the old amusement park's gradual destruction by plant - life and vandals (also excellent for avoiding her classmates during the day. She didn't go at night), and last but not least, her full list of completed credit hours.

She actually had almost ten extra ones; she'd taken two each her first two summers as an underclassman, then three after that. She'd get the final grade for Summer Accelerated Geology at the end of this year, and with all those under her belt, scholarships were looking more and more likely. She'd already applied for well over a dozen large ones, and numerous smaller ones to help sponsor a chance at college, and with all her accreditation, she was hoping for a few shots of good luck. She hid a faint smile at that, and turned the page, blue-gray eyes poring over the text as though it were sacred. And in many ways, to her, it was.

It was the earliest of lessons hammered into her by the old woman who'd raised her past diapers and into preschool; make every word you read count, and learn from it all it knows. She'd learned to read at three; learned to write at five. By seven, she was a voracious writer and reader; more library books were checked out in her name than many of the college students she'd so often encountered. This did not make her a genius, despite her school's initial excitement; she didn't remember all that she read, just bits here and there, and she didn't read fast at all. Instead, it was the product of the knowledge that unless she learned to access these bits of information locked in prose and opinion, she'd be no better off than the others in her tiny, worn - down hometown. In fact, she'd be worse; without an education, the best she could hope for was waitressing or burger - flipping at Eddie's.

And it went without saying, she wanted nothing of that. Rose felt a jolt go through her as the bell rang at last, and made a point of slowly putting her things away and zipping up her bag; it was easier, and far less painful to simply wait for the bottleneck to die down so she could walk home. After a moment or two, the crowd's swell faded and she slung her bag over her shoulder, slipping out of the common area like a dark - clad wraith. She was tall for a girl; she just barely brushed five eleven, and looked the part, gangly and long in the limbs. Freckles dusted her caramel - colored skin; a tone that was natural, not tanned in like so many of the other girls. Her hair waved and curled at the slightest hint of wind, and was the same dusty copper as the markings on her skin. The only odd parts of her were her eyes, and her nose; it was a bit beaky, longer than most girls', and her eyes were pale in contrast to her skin tone. Silvery - gray to deep blue, they could flash with emotion, if she cared to show it...but not here. Here, they were simply blue, and she usually kept herself cocooned in books and her oversized plaid shirts.

Women's clothing didn't fit her well; so, she wore long jeans from the men's department at the thrift store and various tee - shirts, over which went the assorted plaids. She was all dark colors today; black jeans, black long sleeved shirt, and purple and gray plaid. The jeans were patched, the shirt threadbare enough to just hint at her bra underneath, and the plaid so soft and worn she could have slept in it. And she probably would; the chill of winter still hadn't released the town from its grip, and the drafts were pretty nasty at night. So, she'd haul her clothes out and sleep under the pile. Again. Better than before, though...She swallowed back the taste of bile rising, closing her eyes as she slipped out the doors.

Walking across the green of the football field, always so immaculately kept and painted bright, even in the late winter gloom, always brought the memories to surface of a town about twenty miles to the east, smaller than this one by a few thousand people. She hated that they could do that to her still...But here was better. Oh yes. Better than the foster father with the wandering gaze and rough hands. Better than the foster brothers who wanted to experiment...She shied from those memories, startled when she nearly walked into a tree.

"Shit..." She muttered, rubbing her eyes and heading straight for the road, head up now and eyes scanning for oncoming traffic. The intersection itself wasn't normally bad, but drivers fresh out of the high school tended to leap before they looked, and she'd already had one too many close calls this year. It wouldn't take much to slip and get badly hurt; and if she did get messed up, she'd have no way of paying for the hospital bills that came after. She did have a part - time job at the local clinic, but she barely made fifty dollars a week...so caution was always in order.

Rose glanced north, then south, then back again both ways, and darted across the street, glad she'd caught the one little gap between cars. She was a good ways from the school now, and most of her classmates heading to their homes or their hangout downtown, so she headed to hers. Dogwood Boulevard behind her, she took a deep breath and relaxed, her worn sneakers making no sound in the long grass as she slipped down into the ditch and back up over the railroad tracks, treads finding the dirt path easily.

Long limbs, mostly from the walnut trees, were easy to slip under and dodge; they waved in the wind and brushed soft, velvety leaves over her whenever she walked a hair too close, but it was soothing. The area she was cutting across was once a thriving park, full of families and all sorts of tourists...and might have even remained a decent place, until you saw the fallen majesty of a rusting Ferris wheel, left to oxidize into nothingness thirty years prior. The crumbling roller coaster curled neatly around the park, falling into beautiful disarray all around the trees growing slowly through the sea of broken concrete. Leafless bushes sprouted along the old plumbing concourses, and long, sere grasses lay dormant across the massive slabs. Dust and broken earth and lost memories lay thick over it all, and Rose padded quietly through the broken landscape. Prairie Paradise had been something special once, if you listened to the old-timers talk, thirty, forty years ago.

Now, it was just a lost remnant of a forgotten world, and the only place that Rose felt safe anymore. The only gangs that came, came in at night, and she was never fool enough to stay after dark. For the few hours left of daylight that she had, she relished the sweet solitude, and Rose smiled, humming softly as she made her slow way to the center of the park, where the oldest piece of equipment lay, resplendent even now in its decay...The carousel. It was a massive, beautiful, failing masterpiece, five rows of peeling painted horses falling through warped and fading floorboards, massive gears uncovered from the ripped, gilded hangings. It was cordoned off by faded barricades and tape turning to dust...and she slipped through the labyrinth with ease, hands lingering over the splitting wood and brass.

There was peace here, among the rot and the death of an amusement park, and she breathed it in. The chilly late February air ghosted over her, rippling through her thin, thin shirts, and she shuddered, taking in a deep breath. She could do this. She pulled herself up over the broken railing and crawled up onto the only horse left standing, an enormous black stallion, his paint almost completely peeled off. What were once silver and green accents were scattered around him, and only deep gray wood remained. He alone among the many, many horses wasn't cracked or split or broken...just weathered and forgotten.

She sat astride him, legs clamped around the barrel of his belly as she leaned over his neck, pretending, not for the first time, that she was galloping away from this place, from this world...from everything. The sharp sting of a tear startled her, and she brushed its hot track away, annoyed when two more followed. Scrubbing at her eyes with her threadbare cuffs seemed to help a little, and she sniffled, face twisted up angrily.

"Stupid...goddammit. I fucking...shit." _I don't need this right now...I fucking stopped crying ages ago, what have I to cry about? Huh? Nothing. I got a roof over my head, food, clothes..._ But the tears didn't quite stop, and she bent her head over his carved mane, soft sobs finally breaking down the wall as she gave in.

It might have been an eternity before her head finally came up again, and she swore softly at the growing gloom. At least a couple of hours had to have passed; it was getting dark outside, quickly, and she didn't have much time...she slid down from the stallion's back and quickly made her way back through the barricades, trying to remain as quiet as possible. The sun was almost all the way down, and her heart thudded in her throat, knowing what that meant. Everyone knew what that meant; the park wasn't safe after the sun dropped below the horizon, and she had precious little time to escape the trap...her anxiety translated to a swift bout of clumsiness when her toe caught the edge of a concrete slab and she hit the pavement with a gasp, scattering rocks everywhere. The fall seemed so much louder in the silence, and she scrambled up, caution forgotten as she broke into a run...

When the first young man appeared. She stopped dead, heart pounding, eyes wide, and a grin flashed across his face, crooked and terrible. He wasn't too different from the guys at her school, just a little older...but his eyes, the look in them...they didn't bode well for her odds in the least. She spun, taking flight again...only to see a second, and a third, followed by a slew of others, all very obviously circling her. The only safe route was back to the carousel...and so she ran, gulping down lungfuls of the chilly air and ignoring the stitch in her side as she clambered over the cordons frantically. If she got to the inside of it, barred herself in the workings...she might be able to stay safe till morning, till she could get home...or even get a weapon, there were enough broken pipes and pistons lying around.

Climbing up over the stallion once more, she plunged into the tangled guts of the huge machine, pulling the broken pieces of the other horses over her as she passed, steadfastly ignoring the growing, mocking laughter and voices ringing the whole thing.

"C'mon out, girlie!"

"Yeah, string bean, we just wanna play!"

"Man, she ain't that hot."

"So? Bet she's good n' tight..." She shuddered, yanking a piece of the flooring over her hiding place as she hunkered down, the urge to throw up making her clamp a hand over her mouth. _Oh god, oh god..._

"Hey, she fuckin' disappeared!"

"She's under the floor, just start yanking shit out, dumbasses!" They tore into the old beast of a ride and she fought to keep herself hidden, jamming the pistons around her, caging herself in to keep safe. But they were relentless, and when the section of flooring over her came up, all that stood between her and them was a single, wedged in pole, frighteningly inadequate against a dozen grasping hands. She stared up at their leader, a cruelly handsome boy with a backwards baseball cap and a big coat over saggy jeans, and when he reached down...she screamed.


End file.
